The Love That Outlasted Empires
by Aeronnen
Summary: The war was over a hundred years ago, and Eragon and Saphira are Leaders of the Riders. Arya lives in Ellesmera. They have not met for years and years. But now they will be in Ellesmera together for rather a long time ... EragonArya.
1. Chapter 1

_I know, I know, I should be getting on with 'Empire'. Well, this is up on Shurtugal, and I thought you might like to read it too!_

_Anyway, hope you enjoy! It's not that long, but it is a prologue.Well, this plot bunny attacked me in the night, when I was all alone ... whimpers they're always creeping up on me in the dark ..._

_Anyway, hope you enjoy! It's not that long, but it is a prologue._

_Prologue._

_The Island of Vroengard was thriving with life. Bright colours flashed as dragons and their Riders sparred and trained. In the many exotic halls and houses, the older Riders dwelt, where they instructed the younger ones in various arts._

_Rising above this bustling, cheery land, was a tower. It was tall and steep, and the living chambers in the very top bulged out as if they had far too much in them, and were desperately trying to spill out onto the land below._

_It was within these chambers that the Leaders of the Dragon Riders lived._

_In the tower, a blue sword leant against the stone wall, and a sung-wood bow of the elves nestled in it's quiver where it lay against the wall. Four fairths on the wall depicted three very different people and one scene: one was a woman, dressed in man's clothing, a knife at her belt. Her coppery-red hair was restrained in a plait, but still it escaped and hung about her face. She looked regal and dangerous._

_The one next to it was a man, standing on an old battlefield. He had a stern face, with lines that told of many hardships; but he was smiling, and the untrimmed stubble on his face, together with the soiled though expensive clothes he wore, made him look like a great and hard-working Lord._

_The third showed a woman's face and shoulders. She was dressed in armour, though it was only possible to see her shoulder-plate. She had dark, dark skin and black hair that was braided in cornrows, though the ends splayed out to frame her almond-shaped face. She seemed to be ready and waiting for battle. Her eyes were keen and sharp._

_The last was of a great gathering. It was possible to see elves, men, and dwarves in the crowd; they were all gathered at the bottom of a flight of broad shallow steps. At the top of the steps stood five figures._

_One was a dwarf; he had a long brown beard, a large mattock in his hands and he was touching it's broad bottom thoughtfully._

_Next to him was a woman. Her long hair was loose; and both it and her dark skin showed up clearly against her green dress. She held a crown of gold and rubies in her hands and was in the act of lifting it to place upon the head of another man that knelt before her._

_He was in rich clothes; a cloak and bright breeches, though his brown hair was free and unbound. And beside him knelt a human woman. She also was richly dressed, her magnificent gown and skirts embroidered to perfection. Her hair was copper-red and curly. She knelt before a female elf._

_This elf also held a crown. Long black hair fell over her shoulders, down her back, and the ends fluttered in the wind. A diamond diadem held it back from her eyes, though, which themselves were a vivid and penetrating green. She, too, was in the act of lifting a crown to the woman's head. This one was silver, decorated with emeralds, and the workmanship was fine and elegant. And upon all these people, elves, dwarves, and men, the sun shone, bright and beautiful._

_These fairths all hung close to each other upon a wall above a writing desk made of a lacquered cherry-wood. Paper and parchment spilled everywhere, and pots of various colours were perched all over the place, some still with quills and pens still in them. And it was at this desk that one of the occupants of this tower sat._

Eragon dropped the quill, holding his wrist and massaging it wearily. He had been writing so long and so fast that the very muscles in his hand had started to cramp.

_Little one, you spend too much time at that desk. _Saphira landed gracefully on the tear-drop that served as her entrance to the tower. She sniffed distastefully. _And it is a mess, too._

_Thank-you, Saphira, _he replied dryly. _These are important, you know. Brego needs them, urgently._

_They are only pieces of paper. Your nest-mate's son can do without for a while._

Eragon ignored the stab of pain when he thought of Roran and Katrina's son, Brego, who was well into his forty-fifth year. Both Roran and Katrina had lived long and happy lives as King and Queen of Alagaesia, but still their deaths some twenty years previously hurt him as much as any flesh-wound could._ Well, I am done, in any case. Have you seen Stelmaria?_

Saphira flicked her tail._ They are going to live in the Spine. They think the hatchlings will be safer there. They say you and I – and **only **you and I – may know where they are. They wish to be peaceful._

_Good. I am glad,_ Eragon said, tapping his quill thoughtfully against the table. He stopped abruptly when he realised he was spraying black ink everywhere. Stelmaria and her mate Ashmar were the last of the unbonded dragons. No matter how the new generations of Riders flourished, the wild dragons were still diminished. The two had gone to start their family in the Spine, where they would not be disturbed.

_As am I. One day we will see the Riders and wild dragons living together in harmony. _

_Aye. _

Saphira advanced further into the house, and shoved him with her nose._ Come for a flight, little one. It is a glorious day._

_All right, Saphira. _

He found the light saddle, made of thick leather that he had made many years ago when Brom's had worn out and stopped fitting her. Saphira herself was now the size of a fair-sized farmhouse

_Where shall we go today, then?_ She asked, letting him secure the straps to her neck.

_To the mainland? It will be good to see the Spine again. It is a long time since we last crossed the sea._

_Aye, that will be a fine flight. Seisei will be fine to train the older groups; I have just finished with them, in any case. _

_Oh?_ Eragon asked as he reached for something warmer than the tunic he was wearing_. How did it go?_

_Saphira sniffed._ Her and Eragon both enjoyed teaching the young Riders. It was far more rewarding than any other thing he knew of (unless, of course, he thought of those long ago days of farming in Carvahall ... But that was a long time ago and Carvahall had been destroyed along with the rest of the valley.)

_They should learn that a sword and shield are not a Rider's only weapon, _she said._ You would think the meditation that they do every day does not matter at all. _

_They are not so bad,_ he replied as he climbed into the saddle and strapped in his legs._ They work hard._

_Oh, I know. The humans find it so much harder than the elves, though. _

She took off from the portal, launching herself into the clear sky. Many other dragons were below them – red, amber, purple, green, – and they all sent respectful nods in their direction, which he returned with a slight smile to each of them.

_We have not been to Du Weldenvarden for quite a time,_ she remarked, skimming low over the waves

_We have not had any occasion to,_ he answered calmly; he was not prepared, though, for the sudden lurch of confused feelings he got as she uttered that sentence.

_No ... _she sighed,_ and that is good - it means that they have no need of us and are at peace. Still, I would have expected at least a formal invitation by now._

_It is not important,_ he said with a certain hidden bitterness that did not fool Saphira in the least_. It would only be a political visit anyway._

_Yes, it would be. I am surprised – and perhaps a little disappointed. _

_I suppose that the ... **Queen **... has her reasons._

_I am sure she does. _But, though she hid it from Eragon, she was trouble – just faintly – and she was also, as she had admitted, rather disappointed in the elven sovereign.

Saphira climbed higher, so that they were well out of sight of the well-tilled and cultivated land of the New Broddring Kingdom that Roran's son Brego ruled.

_Ah, little one, already I can feel the air of the land I was born in! It is good to be back._

Eragon himself agreed wholeheartedly._ But for the fact that my own village no longer exists, it does feel as if we are coming home._

After many loops, dives, backward corkscrews and other fantastic aerobatics, Saphira announced_: I am hungry. I want to just catch a quick snack._

Eragon winced_. If you must._

_I must,_ she said smugly. _Oh, and I do believe that that bird would make a good starter ..._

She lunged for the white dove that had been desperately trying to avoid her. However, it proved too fast; she overshot and the momentum of the lunge carried her forward. The dove veered away. But instead of flying away, the bird turned and made a beeline for Eragon.

Saphira made to snatch at it again, but Eragon stopped her._ Wait, Saphira! It has a letter attached to it's leg ..._

She stopped, hovering, and the dove alighted on her shoulder before Eragon, unafraid. It did have a scroll on it's scaled pink foot; Eragon untied it gently. The dove cooed and took off again, leaving Eragon with the thin paper in his hand.

_What is it?_ He wondered, turning it over, looking for crest or symbol.

_I don't know. Check the seal!_ Saphira told him impatiently.

It was sealed in pale wax that was uncoloured and natural. There was only one race that used that particular wax ...

_Saphira, it is from Ellesmera_. He could feel so many emotions – curiosity and surprise ... and also ... nervousness? But Saphira had no such inhibitions

_Do not sit there staring! Open it, Eragon! _

He slit the seal open, then carefully opened the letter. The paper was thin, made specially light so that the dove could carry it easily.

_To Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular, greetings. _

_The time of the Agaeti Blodrhen approaches. Soon it will be time for the elves to honour their agreement with the dragons. This most sacred ceremony cannot, of course, commence without both your and Saphira Bjartskular's presence. All of Du Weldenvarden would be honoured by your attendance. We await your answer eagerly. _

_Sincerely yours, _

_ Arya, Queen of the Elves._

Eragon raised his eyes from the scroll_. Saphira ... _he said slowly _... It appears that we are going to Ellesmera. _

Well, what do you think? I haven't quite got an exact plot, but I'll work somehting out ...

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

In which old friends are met and some things are found to be very different, while others are most certainly unchanged.

Chapter One.

Home, Again.

The green waves of Du Weldenvarden rolled and ran beneath Saphira as she sped on mighty wings towards the capital. Eragon, for all his years of teaching, and being very patient, was hardly patient now.

He had not seen Ellesmera for years. He had been at Arya's coronation, yes, had given his blessing for it go ahead with the approval of the Riders ... there had been no reason to refuse ...

But still, even now Eragon was filled with the nagging thought that maybe it had been wrong to do so. Arya had accepted the crown, yes, and it had not been forced upon her. But Arya, before that, had never been caged and kept to one place as she was as queen. She wanted freedom ... and queens do not have that chance.

They had fought in so many battles, saved each others lives countless times. Arya had tried to thank him – he had told her that that was what friends were for. They _had _been friends, done a lot together; but since the age of sixteen, Eragon had kept his feelings for her hidden – so well hidden that she had not suspected a thing.

He had not expected to meet other dragons – the green egg had hatched for a human of Galbatorixs' choice, and Eragon, reluctantly and sadly, had killed them both. Murtagh had tried to break his bonds to the King, and so had died; Shruikan died as Eragon plunged his blue sword into his Riders heart. There were none left.

So he had thought.

They had all emerged from the Vault of Souls – ten of them. Two wild dragons, male and female, and eight Riders and Dragons. So Vroengard had been rebuilt, and Alagaesia brought back to peace.

But Arya, new Queen of the Elves, had not sent word. She sent food and clothes, horses and equipment, but she sent no letter, nor did she ever invite the Leaders of the Riders back to Ellesmera. And Eragon could think of no explanation for that – friends didn't just drift apart ... did they? And if they did, it was through no fault of his ... or could he have done more?

Eragon shook his head angrily, slapping the silver hilt of his sword, frustrated at the circles his thoughts were taking him; circles that he had travelled so many times in the first twenty years of the Riders' return.

Each time the thoughts and memories came to him, he ached. Even though she did not love him back, still he found that it as possible to love her from a distance.

Sometimes, Eragon reflected, the dull ache could be described as an unusual form of toothache – painful, annoying, but impossible to prevent or stop.

_Little one, the wards are parting to let us into the centre of the city._

Eragon's insides lurched, excitement and tremendous nervousness each battling for a prime position in his stomach._ What about Gilderien? Has he not contacted you?_

_Yes ... _she replied unconcernedly ... _but I saw no reason to trouble you with it._

Eragon raised his eyebrows. _Thank-you. _

_You are welcome. _Saphira flicked her tail impatiently. _Are you going to tie the leg straps, or shall I have to carry into Ellesmera in my claws? _

Eragon clicked his tongue exasperatedly, and began tying the knots. _Give me more time ... there is a lot to think about. _

_Then you will have to learn to think and operate at the same time, _she chuckled, and smoke roiled from her nostrils. _Hold tight! _

She plunged in magnificent dive down to the thick canopy, then flared her wings as she neared the very tops of the trees, floating lazily down to earth. Eragon, whose eyes had started to water and blur with the intensity of the air, blinked a few times, and looked around. It seemed that they had landed in the very midst of the city. _Oh, no ... _

Ellesmera, it's graceful buildings bulging from the trees that they a were part of, had not changed at all. The forest floor was covered in a reddish-gold carpet of fallen pine needles, and the undergrowth of brambles, blackberries and wilberries was pleasantly green and healthy.

Saphira snorted, jerking her head upwards, looking at the large crowd that was staring at them. _It seems they are expecting us. _

_I thought it would just be Tialdari Hall! The Lords and Ladies! Not ... not ..._No matter how long Eragon had ruled the Riders, still large and admiring crowds bothered him somewhat.

_Not the whole city, _Saphira finished for him. _No, but come on. We must go ... ah ... I think we must find the Queen and her household. _

Eragon nearly flinched at the word 'Queen'. _I suppose so. _

_Tialdari Hall, then._

It was surprising: it had been perhaps eighty years or so since he had last set foot in Du Weldenvarden, and yet the memories had not grown any less; they found the Hall in relatively quick time, and stood before it, staring. He could almost feel Arya by his side, dressed in a green tunic and girdle of moonstones, chanting:

_'Fruit of tree, root of vine;_

_Let me pass by this blood of mine ...'_

The doors opened, ivy and vine-covered fronts bending back into the Hall. And from within came four-and-twenty elf Lords and Ladies.

They were not the same as the ones that had been in Tialdari Hall that first time, when Queen Islanzadi had reconciled with her daughter; some had been killed in the war, others abdicated their places. They gathered before Saphira, fair faces glad and uplifted. A voice spoke a quiet command, and they parted, letting one elf walk through to Eragon and Saphira.

It was Arya.

Eragon's breathing quickened, and he blinked. This was Arya, yes – she had green eyes and black hair, and wore her customary green tunic – and yet it wasn't.

She stared at him, too, and his shoulders tensed unconsciously while his hand groped for his old hunting knife, shocked.

Her eyes – once so bright and fierce, the only thing that at times betrayed her thoughts – were closed. Completely closed, with cold shutters behind them, strong as weathered oak. No emotion was visible ... absolutely none. They stared at him, frightfully dull, yet alive with some emotion ... to Eragon, it seemed that it was this feeling that kept her living and breathing.

Her posture was stiff, hands clenched at her side, keeping an aura of coldness around her; Eragon noticed that the Lords and Ladies did not stand close to her. Eragon looked at her bunched hands, small and white, and saw, with another foreboding lurch, that she no longer carried her long, slim blade. That was what truly unnerved him. Arya had always, _always, _carried her sword, whether at home in Ellesmera or in Tronjheim mountain itself.

As if in a dream turned suddenly awful, Eragon felt his hand, seemingly of it's own accord, twist into a familiar though unused gesture and rest on his sternum. And as if from far-away, his own voice.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The elf Lords and Ladies stared. None of them replied, knowing that it was for their queen to reply to. And she did, uncurling her hands and bringing her fingers to her lips slowly.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."

Her voice was lower too. He finished the greeting off in a rush. "Un du Evarinya ono varda."

"Eragon Shadeslayer. It is good you have back in our fair city again." The black of her pupils were very noticeable. Eragon replied measuredly, hoping that he looked as calm as he sounded.

"And good to return ... Queen," he said, remembering her title. She tilted her head, and he saw that she had let hair grow until it reached far past her waist.

"The Agaeti Blodrhen is in a week. All Ellesmera is preparing for it. Will you stay?"

He thought this question was somewhat unnecessary. Why else would he be here? "Of course, Your Majesty. We came for that purpose."

Arya flicked her eyelids shut for moment, then opened and looked at Saphira. Her eyes showed a spark of interest. Saphira lowered her head to look better upon the Queen. After a moment, she padded forward to Arya. Bending her neck so that the Lords and Ladies had to separate from the Queen, she examined Arya from all sides.

_Arya Svit-Kona, _she said, and Eragon could feel Saphira's confusion and ... pity? Arya and Saphira locked eyes, and again Arya's face brightened and became more lively.

"Saphira Bjartskular. It is indeed good to see you again."

_It has been a long time, Arya. And even longer since we last saw your kingdom. Far longer than we expected. _

Arya's lighter expression faded to be replaced with that awful dullness again. "It has, Bjartskular. You have, of course, Vrael's house, as it now falls to you as your own. I hope you both are comfy; Bellaen will tend to anything you may need."

The elves around her rustled disapprovingly at her abruptness; it was apparent they thought she was being rude. Eragon bowed.

"Then we will depart, Arya Svit-Kona." The elves now frowned at him for not giving her her proper title. "It is a great pleasure to meet with you again."

She nodded, a very precise movement. She turned and the elves once again closed around her; they moved back to Tialdari hall like so many brightly-coloured leaves. Eragon also turned; he knew the way to his own house – _his _own ... how good it was to call it such again! - that he could find it with a blindfold on.

_What happened, Saphira? _

_To what or to whom?_

_To ... Arya. She's ... she looks ill, if that is possible. _

Saphira rolled her huge shoulders, wishing to get rid of the saddle. _I think, Eragon, it is the burden of leadership. _

_Ah ... I think it is more: I think it is the burden of **unwanted **leadership._

_She agreed to be Queen; she wanted to lead her people. _

_I know ... _Eragon cast his mind back to a conversation from long ago over a blazing cook-fire. _Arya told me that her freedom was something she valued highly; it was her ability to roam and fight that kept her fighting Galbatorix in the first place. A Queen does not have that ability._

Saphira snorted. _That was a wise speech ... next time you speak to Arya she will find that you have changed much. _

Eragon poked her side genially, but it was unlikely that she even felt it. _Even I can learn something in a hundred years._

_Yes, little one. Sometimes it still amazes me. _

This time he slapped her rump. _Saphira! _

_You've been in strange moods all day. Perhaps I should drop you from a great height, to wake you up._

_Saphira, _he said severely, _you have managed to change the subject. We were talking about Arya. _

_Talk about Arya tomorrow. There is plenty of tomorrow and not much left of today._

_All right. But we will have to talk. _

_Yes. _Saphira emanated worry. _She has always been very much her own person, but to change this much is worrying. _

_Aye. How can she lead her people if she is not properly alive?_

_Hmm. I was watching those elves; they love her, all of them. I suspect that she has not won them over by pure chance._

_I think you're right, Saphira._

_As always. _

They came to the end of the path the had been following and stopped before the tree there. A graceful dwelling grew from the tree, four windows and a large tear-drop shaped portal for Saphira.

_We seem to be visiting our old homes a lot lately._

_Quite. _

The stairway was just as he remembered it. It all seemed so normal – as if the last eighty years had not happened. It was almost believable. But as he touched the stair rail, a deluge of memories collapsed atop him.

_A golden dragon hovered at eye-level, a small, white-robed figure on his back. "**You must learn to channel that energy, Eragon ..." **said Glaedr in his deep voice, "**and also ..."**_

_Eragon looked at the whole of Tialdari Hall, after returning from the Burning Plains. **"The new Rider ... the new Rider is Murtagh, son of Morzan."**_

_The elves danced and sang around the huge old tree that was hung with magic lamps and bright streamers. Arya pulled him to his seat. **"You have been given a special seat in the festivities, Eragon ..."**_

Eragon shook his head angry at the sudden rush of feelings. Now was not the time. He put his foot on the first step, and climbed the tree rapidly, not allowing many more thoughts into is head.

He climbed through the small ante-chamber and into the main house; it was very clean and did not look in the least as if it had been deserted for eighty-odd years. Two pale hands twined around each other in a delicate sculpture; the were two doors leading off the main hall; one to the large dining room, one to the wash-room.

When he walked to the bed, and reached out his hand to touch the blankets, his feeling of unreality returned. Soft and gentle, they were clean and fresh-smelling too. There was fruit in the fruit bowl; and when he looked around, he could see that the grate had been cleaned and the chimney chute cleared.

He put his pack – complete with the necessary armour, a spare bowstring, and food – onto the floor and walked forward; such a strange feeling! Many times Eragon, in his unconscious self, had dreamed of Ellesmera, of the Menoa tree, and the Crags of Tel'naeir – and of his house, too.

_It's like ... like nothing has happened at all, Saphira ... like we're coming home after training with Oromis ._

Saphira, who had landed on the portal and was sniffing her softly-lined bed, agreed. _I know. Like no time has passed at all. _

_Yes. _Eragon sat on the bed and began undoing the leather gaiters that wrapped his calves. _There will be many places to go, tomorrow._

_And first out of all of them, Oromis and Glaedr's grave! If it had not been for ... had we not ... _

Eragon could feel her thoughts, confused as they were, and understood what she meant. _Gods-cursed, hell-spawned bloody politics, _he observed as he pulled off his boots.

_Exactly. This should be out domain, somewhere we and the other elders know as a second home; we should not have been driven away._

Eragon froze in the act of putting down his boot. _We should have done more. Even if it was not our place to make diplomatic embassies, still we should have ... have built more bridges. _

_We did make bridges! Did we not visit Roran and Katrina and Nasuada – Orik as well, as often as it was possible for us to do so?! The elves have forgotten their manners, for once, _she said, settling down in her bowl-shaped bed.

Eragon slapped his pillow. _This is stupid. I cannot fathom what has happened ... _

_Arya has changed. The elves have not. But whatever happens, and whatever has _been _happening, we will face it in the morning. _

Eragon conceded to this point. He found the edge of the blankets (there were rather a lot of them) and pulled them over himself. _And in the morning we will face the elves again, and Tialdari Hall, to cap it all. _

Saphira laid her head on the edge of her bed, so that she could see Eragon. _Not if we do not want to. They know Vroengard's status at the moment - we have been sending the reports. _

_Aye. But I **will **speak with Arya. _

_As will I. _

_Goodnight, Saphira. _

_Sleep well, little one. _

Eragon tried to sleep well; but this day had been unlike any other – good or bad – and his mind was whirling with dozens of unexplained an unanswered thoughts. He rolled upwards, grabbing some blankets, and padded over to Saphira; he lay against her side, feeling her comforting warmth, despite her scales.

_Are you all right, Eragon?_

_Perfect, _he replied. She laid her head back down and closed her eyes. Eragon's last thought before he fell asleep was that perhaps things had not changed quite so much as he'd imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

Whew, this took a while. My ideas just fled me and I couldn't write.

Thank-you very much for all those reviews! I'm sorry for not replying to them - I will try to reply to the ones for this chapter.

Chapter Two.

Blue and Silver.

Eragon and Saphira had been up since dawn. Elves didn't think the same of sleeping the whole night through, like humans and dwarves, and so there always seemed to be someone about. But it was easy to avoid them, and avoid them Eragon and Saphira did.

Eragon could remember the first time he'd seen the Menoa tree, the first time he'd found that it - that _she_ - was awake. Arya had been sitting by him, and had almost seemed amused by his reaction.

He gazed at the tree, wishing that Arya was there now. The elves had left their decorating for a while, and the half-streamers and lanterns hung from its branches. Even so, it was beautiful. The trunk was grey in the dawn light, and the all the brambles and berry-bushes and fallen pine-cones made a smell that was only Ellesmera.

He touched the trunk gently. The Menoa, he was certain, would never change. It would just go on growing and growing and growing, caring for its plants and creatures until time itself ended.

The sun was rising higher, the light getting stronger.

_Let us go to their graves, Eragon._

_I'm coming. _

Soon they were flying, high above the canopy, excited yet nervous as to what they might see. So long it had been. Oromis and Glaedr should have died in battle - Saphira had always felt that. Eragon, though, thought that although Oromis was fierce when he had to be, an excellent and deadly fighter, that he hadn't really wanted to fight any more. He had had, understandably, wanted some vengeance, Eragon thought, but it did not burn in him as fiercely as it burnt in his dragon.

They'd buried him - the first Rider to die and be buried in Ellesmera. The elves had made a stone chamber, very, very strong, and then piled earth above it. Oromis and Glaedr had been laid to rest inside the chamber, as together in death as they had been in life.

Islanzadi had decreed it a special place, for those who wanted to think or merely be peaceful. Eragon had been unendingly grateful to her, for in no case could he have asked for such a thing himself. Though there were things he had never quite understood about Islanzadi, she had been good to make the grave in such a way that it would not be forgotten.

It had changed. Eragon stood before the resting place of the only Riders from the last age he had ever known, staring up at the Hill.

It was as tall as Saphira's withers, long and low. The last time they'd been there it had been a muddy pile of earth, just starting to show the small green tips of grass and weeds. Now it was covered in smooth green grass, foxgloves and small shrubs; every now and again oak trees and Rowans grew, their bark and leaves shiny and glossy. Eragon could see fallen trunks that served as benches or seats and small caves in the Hill for protecting any visitors from unfriendly weather.

Though the the crest of the Hill was starting to lighten as the first rays of dawn touched it, beneath the trees and in the shadow of the Hill it was still dark. Eragon, not in the mood for sunshine at that moment, made for the grove where Oromis' small garden had been. Saphira followed, though she could fit only her head and shoulders in between the trees.

There were traces of the garden once being there - a few moss-grown crabbe apple trees, a damson tree with a crow's nest in its tangled branches, and even a few nasturtiums crept over the ground, orange-and-red flowers bright. Eragon knew that he was the only one who knew of the garden, and thought therefore that he would be undisturbed in the lieu of one of the huge apple trees.

_Strange that the city is so quiet,_ Saphira said without much interest.

_It's still early,_ he said lazily; it was peaceful and he had no intention of thinking over-much. There was plenty of time for that later.

_Mmph._

It was perfectly still. A blackbird trilled, but otherwise the only sound was him and Saphira. Saphira, who had her head laid on her front legs, looked very relaxed. Her sapphire eyes were half-open and her thoughts were drowsy. Until ...

_Eragon ..._

"Eragon!"

Eragon jumped. He sprang to his feet, looking for the hilt of his blue sword; Saphira flicked her tongue in surprise.

_Arya -!_

"Arya!"

She was in the act of standing. Eragon, all thoughts of ambush or attack forgotten, stared, completely disarmed. Arya stared back at him, appearing to have nothing more to say after that first exclamation. She looked vaguely betrayed at being found; he could not help noticing that her hand, like his, had dropped straight to where the hilt of her sword should have been.

"What are you doing here?" The garden had been hidden, even when Oromis was alive, and she had found it.

"I come here to think," she said warily, looking him over.

"I am surprised you could find it," he replied, no less comfortable.

"I did not need to find it. Oromis and Glaedr taught me the rudiments of Grammarye as a child; many times I came here then."

"I see." Eragon put his hand on the trunk of the apple tree, feeling the cool damp moss. "Will you join us?" he asked, gesturing to Saphira, who was watching with interest, and the spot he had just risen from.

Arya sank back down, still watching him; Saphira flicked her tongue out at Arya in a gentle way, then laid her head back down on her claws.

"How are you?" Eragon asked finally. Arya glanced at him quickly.

"Well. Thank-you," she tacked on quickly. "And yourself?"

"Just the same," he smiled. Arya's lips curved just a bit, as if she had not seen a true smile in a while.

"That is good." She paused, gazing at the tree Eragon was leaning against. "Have you thought of your offering to the festival yet?"

Eragon groaned. "No, I have not." He eyed her humorously. "Would you believe that I had completely forgotten?"

Arya's eyes reflected some of his own humour. "You have a week ... I am sure you will think of something. Your last entry was well-received."

"That," said Eragon, remembering, "took me a very long time, comparatively. And I do quite enough writing as it is."

"Oh?" said Arya questioningly.

"Letters and diplomatic greetings and the reports on our status on Vroengard," Eragon told her. "And they go to Orik and Brego - and you."

Was it him or had she flinched, just a little bit? "Why don't you take a page or serving boy? I saw the Varden using them."

"It is my responsibility. Why should I give that work to someone else? We do not have servants on Vroengard; we all cater for ourselves, or work together to help each other get what they they may need."

Arya leant her head back on the damson tree, contemplating. "Things have certainly changed on Vroengard. I was only young at the fall of the Riders, but I am quite aware they were not quite so high-minded as you and Saphira seem to be."

"We have learnt a lot. We listened to Brom and to Oromis and Glaedr and Hrothgar and Ajihad - even Garzvhog. They all had tales to tell and wisdom to share."

Arya studied him, her eyes, previously rather dull, had brightened. "You have changed so much, Eragon -" She stopped abruptly and did not finish her sentence.

He also studied her, though fairly unobtrusively. Her hair, so long that it lay around her legs and seat, was thick and glossy and did not really match her sad appearance. "We have had a lot of time to change, Arya Svit-Kona."

She blinked at the name. "It is also a long time since any one called me that, Argetlam."

Now he blinked. "No one has called me that for a long time, either. I am 'master' on Vroengard."

"Oh," said Arya again. "What do ..." she struggled for the word, " ... the older ones call you?"

"The eight from the Vault?" he asked in confirmation. "They call me by my name. Generally," he added. Arya lifted an eyebrow.

"Generally?"

"Some do not think it is an entirely honourable name," he explained. "Eragon, Rider of Bid Daum, was the first Rider and my name is a little ... unusual. Especially as I am human."

"Do they cause you trouble?" Arya frowned ever so slightly, her white brow creasing.

"No! No, Friathi is pompous, that is all." Eragon smiled. "He cannot hold his alcohol either."

"Excuse me?" Arya blinked. "Do you ... drink that much?" She looked shocked.

"No! We have normal amounts of wine. But even that seems to send him tipsy." Eragon smiled, remembering many evenings of Friathi staggering about while he and Seisei tried not to let the students see.

Arya looked highly disbelieving and Eragon rather thought she looked disapproving, too. "You are happy, then," she said, seeing his smile. Saphira hummed.

_But of course we are happy, Arya,_ she said warmly._ We do not do things needlessly nor pursue useless quests. _

Arya looked at Saphira sadly. "You are so very lucky, Saphira Bjartskular. Do you know that?"

_Yes, I do_. Saphira replied simply. Eragon could feel a strange mix of curiosity and compassion coming from her. _Why do you ask?_

"It ..." Arya cleared her throat, appearing uncomfortable, " ... it is a terrible thing to be happy and not realise it. I know from my own experience, and I hoped you had not made my mistake."

"What mistake?" Eragon asked softly. Arya blanched and seemed to suddenly remember his presence again.

"No one thing in particular," she said sharply, and pulled a strand of long, silky black hair behind her ear and off her face. "As you have said, we have both had long lives in which to learn."

"That is so. But you do not sound happy."

Arya sent a glance beneath her eyelids that was both sad and angry. "I am caring for my mothers' people. I am part of the new Empire. I see dragons flying once more and there is no shadow on my home. I am as happy as I am allowed to be."

Eragon longed to say something sharp or even just what he felt; but that was not done amongst the elves and Arya would certainly not appreciate it; nor would politics. He bit his tongue and looked around the little garden for inspiration. "Where is your sword?"

"My sword is with my other belongings that I no longer need," she said heatedly. "It is of no concern to you."

"True, my Queen. But I find it a pity."

Arya looked annoyed to be asking yet another question. "Why is that, Argetlam?"

"Because I would have asked to spar with me, had you still had your sword with you."

"I have no more need of my sword now," Arya said tonelessly. "I will never again use it in battle."

"But surely you must train to keep your skills?"

"I am an elf and we do not relapse back into old ways."

Eragon truly was shocked now. "You do not practice?"

"I do not need to," Arya said, looking put out by his vehemence.

"But ..." Eragon bit his tongue again. "Will you do me the honour of sparring with me, Arya Svit-Kona?"

"I have not for a long while, by human time. I may not be up to your high standards any more, Eragon."

Eragon smiled slowly. "I very much doubt that, my Queen." The warmth in his voice was unmistakeable. Arya lowered her eyes quickly and a faint redness glowed on her pale cheeks.

"And I, also, would be honoured to spar with you again, Eragon Shadeslayer."

There was a slight pause, in which Arya regretted her more friendly tones. "I am glad. I look forward to it very greatly." His voice became more businesslike. "When would be agreeable to you, my Queen?"

"Tomorrow morning before council begins and before the sun can heat." She glanced up. "But for that matter I have a council meeting this morning. I must go."

"Of course, Arya Svit-Kona," Eragon said immediately. "It has been a great pleasure to see you again."

Arya once more looked away and shielded her eyes with her lashes. "It is good to meet with you again," she said in what was a rather grudging tone; it seemed she had not wanted their conversation to lead here. "Yes, it is a good meeting. I will you tomorrow at the sparring ground and hour after sunrise. I trust you can still find your way there?"

"Of course I can," said Eragon, rather insulted. It was not for nothing that he had gone there first thing every morning of his training.

Her eyes glinted. "Very good. Farewell for today, Eragon."

"Good day, Queen."

She nodded and, ducking behind a thick, well-leafed sycamore, disappeared almost instantly, leaving Eragon with the empty, deserted garden but for Saphira and the whispering aspens.

----

Eragon turned the blue sword Daiithil in his hand. Freedom it meant and freedom it had given. Daiithil, Brom's sword ... Daiithil, his _fathers'_ sword. The blood it had spilt and the victory it had won. He ran his hand over and hoped that it would not let him down in his sparring with Arya today.

Then again, a bad workman blames his tools.

_Are you going to ruminate on your sword all day?_ Saphira asked impatiently. _You are going to be late. _

_I'm coming. _

The saddle was fitted and the thongs tied; Saphira launched herself from the house like a swallow from a nest.

_You are nervous,_ Saphira observed with some humour and surprise.

_I can keep nothing from you, can I, Saphira?_ He said, unabashed. I_ feel as if I did something wrong in etiquette yesterday in asking Arya to spar. _

_Well, you did ask her, did you not, and you cannot go back on your word now. _

_I would never!_ He protested indignantly.

_I know that. In any case, you both used to spar with each other so much before the Vanquishing and why should anything have changed since then? _

_But something has changed,_ Eragon said quietly, head sunk onto his chest in an unconsciously Brom-like way. _Changed a lot._

_Aye_, Saphira agreed. She spied the training grounds, obvious through the trees by the worn sandy floor that so many elves had done over the centuries, and plummeted like a falling stone.

There was no sign of Arya. He slid to the ground, thankful the grounds were deserted this early in the morning, and unsheathed Daiithil, blocking the blade with the normal words. Slowly, he began to practice various formations until he was fighting a large band of foes.

_Strange to be back,_ he said to Saphira as he decapitated an enemy. _The last time we were here ... _

_... Arya and you ..._ Saphira said quietly.

_... Yes_, he finished sadly. He stabbed at a wooden dummy with rather a lot of vim. _I never did understand. _

_Nor did I_, Saphira agreed quietly. _Elves are subject to rage and passion, same as any mortal_, she quoted wisely. _Angela was right, as usual._

Eragon snorted and, felling his last imaginary enemy, sheathed Daiithil. _Angela -_ he started, but was cut off.

"But has the Rider given up all ready?" Arya had come up behind him and eyed his sheathed sword curiously. "I apologise for my lateness -" Saphira flicked her tail at the irony " - but Lord Tithir felt the need to discuss with me the scrying mirrors for the Agaeti Blodrhen celebration at the earliest convenience. It was not very convenient," she added dryly. "Do you still wish to spar?"

Eragon saw that, fastened to her hip, as it had always, ever since he'd known her, was her slender silver sword. "Certainly, my Lady."

Today her long hair was plaited back, braided thick and tight and pulled strictly away from her face. Eragon remembered the time they had spent travelling to the Varden through the Hardarac desert and the howling winds at night that had made her hair blow every which way until she had been forced to pull it away from her face and tie with a strip of linen. Arya stared at him and held her glittering sword ready, waiting for him to draw Daiithil.

Eragon held Daiithil as she held her unnamed sword, and waited fro her to make a move. All of a sudden, with such speed and agility that would have floored him once, long ago, she sprang forward and struck at him and their blades met in a flurry of sparks.

Eragon grinned and ducked her blade, lunged forward, and attempted to dodge her guard. But she blocked easily, with practised grace. The same grace allowed her to move right and strike at his left, which was parried with little difficulty. She spun and twisted and at each blow she became stronger; her eyes became brighter, and look of strange happiness appeared on her face.

Eragon parried her blows and then leapt forward himself, forcing her back; but she jumped to the left, attacked him from the side, then once more retreated. He could see a new fire in her eyes, bright and determined ... This was the Arya he had known.

As Daiithil and Arya's sword crashed and withdrew time and time again, she got stronger; soon their blows rang so loud that birds fluttered from the trees and their ears reverberated. Arya struck left and Eragon blocked; Eragon slashed sideways and Arya jumped backwards. Sweat beaded on both brows; and the sun rose higher.

Daiithil bounced backwards and Eragon leant back to avoid the opposite blade; Arya pushed forwards, then slashed from the side and away again; blow after blow, crash after crash. Eragon could not see a single hole in her defences.

Quicker and stronger and fiercer the dual became. Eragon and Arya moved swiftly and gracefully, an intricate dance of the most deadly. The training fields vanished and all Eragon could see was Arya and their swords, flashing and withdrawing.

He revelled in the physical exercise, the agility, and the enjoyment of fighting such a worthy opponent. Eragon let out a great breath of exhilaration and grinned frankly at Arya; and for one moment, small but breathless, their swords seemed to pause and their eyes met with no hesitation and memories so very like this one from so very long ago choked his mind. But as soon as the moment had started, it went. Arya stepped back and lunged for his midriff; Eragon wondered if she had noticed at all.

And, with a long, flowing, movement, she dived beneath his guard at the same time that he dodged under her blade and stopped with perfect control before her throat, before realising that her own sword was poised over his heart.

They stood, swords just barely not touching skin, breathing heavily. Eragon stepped back and slowly sheathed Daiithil after removing the magical guard on it.

"Well played, Argetlam," Arya said; a bead of sweat sat on her forehead. "I have not sparred like that for many a year."

"Nor I, my Queen." Eragon smiled and slapped Daiithil's pommel.

"Not even with your Riders?" she asked, coming forward and pushing the sword back into the sheath.

"Rarely," he smiled. "We take care not to duel in front of the students unless it is scheduled in case mutiny arises."

Arya nodded. "Very wise. I am sure a duel between two Riders would be a sight indeed. I wish I could see such."

Eragon exhilaration faded. "Why did you never come? Saphira and I would have welcomed you and any you brought; and you only had to send word and we would have come."

Arya's joy disappeared as quickly as it had come. "I know you would have."

"Then why did you not?" he pressed on. She clenched her hand over the pommel of her sword.

"It is not important."

"It is important to us. We received your food and your weapons and armour - and yet you did not come. Every time an elven embassy arrived at the docks I would look for you but you never came." The words cost him more than he had expected; the ache it had caused became more real than it had been the last decade. Arya said nothing. "Was your last memory of us in this place so terrible that you were frightened to come?"

"No!" she spat, almost snarling at this slight on her courage. "I was not scared. I am _my own_ and my decisions were thus; and they had no bearing on former ... memories," she said, as though the word tasted bad.

"Every choice we make has a base in our memories!" Eragon exclaimed. "And I had no word from you, Arya, neither from your pen or your own mouth."

Arya's eyes burned and she lifted her head proudly. "I was not aware you required anything but what I provided."

"Yes, I did," he answered firmly. "I required - and still do - the presence of the elven queen on Vroengard. My youngest Riders have never met you and even the elders have met you but once or twice. Had you never wished to come?"

"My father died on Vroengard!" Her voice rose. "I have no wish to visit it at all. You are mistaken."

Her words were almost physical blows. "My fathers dragon _died_ on Vroengard, Queen, and yet I live there. I assure you, it is not haunted," he snapped in a rather scathing tone. Arya coloured high on her cheeks and looked wildly angry at his tone.

"Ghosts do not frighten me, Rider. I am of higher stock," she spat, tall and haughty. Eragon regretted his words and said rather more quietly:

"What, then, do you fear, Queen Arya?"

Eragon saw her recoil at her full title and wondered at it. She pressed her lips together in an old habit that he knew meant she was either trying not to laugh or wondering what to say. He doubted it was the former.

"The thing I fear has all ready come to pass. I know it in the dark and it comes to me when I am unguarded." She paused and her haughty look had not changed. "I did not follow the correct course of action once."

"What was this thing?" his softer voice did not change, but Arya's expression did. She straightened and once more the fire flashed from her eyes.

"I answered one question but I will not pour my life out to you on the forest floor," she uttered bitingly.

"I did not ask you to do that; merely to tell me the truth."

"I told you the truth. I am an elf; and we do not lie."

"But an answer less cryptic, perhaps."

"I spoke clearly. It is nor my fault if you do not understand." Her gaze seemed to burn into him and he felt as if he was being accused of an unknown crime.

"How can I help, my Queen, if I do not understand, though?"

"But I did not ask for your help!" Arya looked surprised and displeased. "Ad why should you be able to help?"

"Because I want to. You are ..." Eragon was tired of biting his tongue. " ... You are not the Arya I knew."

"I know I am not!" Her voice, previously so strong, broke. "I know I am not. I had so much within my grasp, Eragon, and I missed it! I let it go! I had the one thing I wanted, the one thing that I needed, and I lost it! You cannot know how it felt, not even if you live for another hundred years." A sob crept into her voice. "Not if you live for millennia."

"What was it, Arya? Who was it?" He felt a need to rip this person limb from limb.

"If you do not know, then you are more stupid than I gave you credit for." A tear glistened in her eye; but her head was high and she did not wipe away the tiny, sparkling diamond.

"Arya, why do you push me away? I have no bad intentions - you must surely know that!" Eragon could not think of a way to make himself any clearer. "What was it?" She glared frostily, unanswering. "_What happened_?"

"It was a person," she admitted grudgingly. "A human."

Eragon's wish to tear this person apart with his bare hands increased rather a lot. "Arya, _who was it_?"

"You!" she exclaimed. "It was you," she repeated bitterly.

Eragon stared at her, at her green eyes sparking with un-shed tears; he could not speak for a long moment. "Arya ..."

"What? What do you think you can _possibly_ say?"

"You are talking about the last time we were here, the last time we sparred ..." Eragon felt strangely hollow.

"Yes, I am! When you ... when you ..." she seemed to be unable to articulate the word.

"When I kissed you, Arya," he said sadly. "When I kissed you, was it enough to send me into exile?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes, it was. It destroyed me, Eragon, and you cannot know the pain."

"I am sure I can," he responded coldly. "I waited for you for so long; I watched my family die, my friends die, and yet the only one, you - the only one who would not fade as they did - did not come. Perhaps you will find this hard to believe, but I _missed_ you. You did not even do me the courtesy of informing me of my crime."

"Because it was not you who committed it!" Her tone was biting and there was loathing in it; to whom, he did not know. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why did you act as if I had, as if you were punishing me?"

"I was not - Oh, I was not!" A look of distress crept into her eyes and her nose flared. "No, Eragon. That is not right."

"Then - why?"

"I cannot explain. Do not ask me to, Eragon. Please."

Eragon's heart ached at her dejected countenance, but he was exasperated beyond measure. "I cannot help, either, if you do not explain to me, Arya."

"_**I did not ask for your help!" **_Her constraint broke and she shouted, trembling in every fibre of her body.

Eragon's insides twisted with sympathy but his anger rose. "Then, Queen Arya, I have no further business here," he said with barely controlled anger.

"Very well!"

Arya's back stiffened and she turned and walked away. Eragon mirrored her movements and they both departed the training grounds in high dudgeon.

--

Like it? The row took forever!


	4. Chapter 4

Quick, eh? Gosh, it's late. Talk about role-reversal! I've had to tell my mum off for texting on her mobile too much and for leaving her CD's out where they get ruined. This bloke she fancies had better be worth it. P:) I've got to make roast dinner for him, but how do you serve a slaughterman meat? Especially chicken? -groan-.

Mind you, foot-and-mouth puts a bit of damper on it, anyway. I even had a nightmare about it last night. Lol. Decapitated mice ... eww ...

**_Thank-you very much for all those wonderful, lovely, supportive reviews! Thank-you!_**

Chapter Four.

Not a Medicine.

Eragon and Saphira had thus far not gone back into Ellesmera except to sleep. They visited the Three Mountains of Ellesmera, where pillars of melted rock bore testament to Saphira's training and Glaedr's teaching; they had landed on the Stone of Broken Eggs and wandered about, thinking of Stelmaria, the last wild female dragon and her mate and hoping that one day a family as large the one that had lived here would live in the Spine. They had been to Oromis' grave often, but had not met Arya there again. And everywhere he and Saphira went, he felt a simmering, burning anger, horribly mixed with shame and sadness.

What had she meant? What had she let fall through her grasp? What had she let go?

Why did she hate him? Why was she punishing him, but telling him that she was not? Why would she not tell him?

How long had she lived with this burden? How had he brought it on? And why ... why was the kiss they had shared so terrible as to send her away from him so permanently?

Eragon sighed, staring down at the sleeping Ellesmera from where he sat on his bed. The very day before setting out to help the Varden in Uru'Baen, Eragon had sparred with Arya. It had been gentler than the one he had fought with her so disastrously two days ago. And after ... Arya always had an endless amount of tea, provided by Bellaen, and she had brewed them blackcurrant this time ...

It had not been planned, and Eragon had not been forceful nor said harsh words; and indeed, Arya had kissed him back for a long instant. It was only afterwards that she had gasped and turned away and left her own house. The next day they had ridden with the elven army to Uru'Baen and Arya had ridden with a company far removed from his own. They had barely talked then or after Galbatorix and Murtagh's deaths, and as soon as the crowning ceremony of Roran and Katrina had taken place she had left with what remained of her elves.

The next time he saw was her coronation, where she accepted the throne with his and Saphira's blessings. And still no personal words were spoken.

Then he had gone to Vroengard with Seisei and Stelmaria the dragon and Friathi and Cria, his dragon, and the others from the Vault of Souls. They had scourged the island of the contorted beasts that lived there, given honoured burials to the remains of Riders and dragons they found there; and then had started the building work.

Roran had sent building materials; Orik had sent dwarves of his and Eragon's own Clan to design the buildings. Arya had sent food and soft elven clothes.

When it was done, and the first young Riders had touched the eggs, then the embassies had arrived. Even Orik had braved the dreaded boats to come and see the finished city of Doru Areaba.

It had taken four years to do this and in this time Eragon had no personal note from Arya.

Sitting where he was on the edge of his bed, looking down at the twinkling were-lights and glowing windows of the city, Eragon felt only the simmering loneliness that comes after a great temper. Saphira snorted in sympathy and she nudged him from her blanket-lined bed.

_Do no fret so, Eragon,_ she said gently. _Arya is only upset and confused. Soon she will stop avoiding us. _

_Ha_, Eragon said bleakly. _She is not avoiding you, she is avoiding me. _

_Yes, well ... be that as it may, there is nothing you can do. _

_I feel useless. We have never had such days of complete nothing._

_Find something to do, though I understand your grief. You must think of something to present at the Agaeti Blodrhen. _

_I hardly think I will be able to think of anything to please the elves. _

Saphira smirked. _I am sure a love ballad would be well received._

_Only if you asked them to sing it,_ Eragon smiled and poked at her nose. _As Orik said, they would do just about anything for you. _

_Yes ... but I cannot help feeling somewhat put out by Arya - she does not make any sense and I can not even speak to her. _

Eragon sat back again, feeling rather more melancholy. Many memories and sights and stayed with Eragon over the years - the feeling of the summer sun on his back as he worked, the smell of soap as his aunt washed their clothes; the sight of the Dragon Riders flying about Doru Areaba in the rising sun; and the smell of the stables in Surda; the feeling of vertigo as he stood on the Crags of Tel'naeir.

And the feel of Arya's lips on his, of her soft skin on his and her sweet hair on his neck. The rustle of her clothing ... her body in his arms. It had been so brief, but it had burned into his mind forever, something to remember with all five of his senses

And he did not understand why she hated him, why she punished him ... why she would not even speak to him of her hate. Eragon could not imagine that keeping such loathing inside herself was good for her. He knew that if he harboured such hate for nigh on a hundred years that it would eat him up inside; two years of hate had nearly destroyed him, in any case. Why wouldn't Arya speak?

And so he simmered. No angry, not sad, but mixture of both; and he was lonely too, despite Saphira's company, which, of course, he valued higher than any one else's. Never had Ellesmera seemed so entirely inhospitable.

--

Eragon plodded through Ellesmera, if a Rider with abilities of an elf could be said to plod, wondering if he would happen upon Arya. He knew he would not - there was no one better at avoiding others than Arya - but he couldn't help hoping that he would. The way they had parted had not even been a proper way to end an argument.

_Where are you going, little one?_ The path was wide there and Saphira walked by his side.

_I don't know ... not to Tialdari Hall, though I would like to see it again in full. _

_Why not?_

_Arya ... it is her home. I doubt things will improve if she thinks I have been going there just to waylay her. _

_You humans, you elves. Why do you make little things so complicated? Why not simply take a mate and be happy?_

_We are not as blessed with peace and strength of mind as dragons are,_ Saphira, Eragon said shortly. _But I am at a loose end with what to do with myself._

_As am I. This should be a relaxing, diplomatic visit, propriety observed, of course,_ said Saphira with a smirk in her voice.

_Damn' propriety to deepest Hell_, Eragon said forcefully. _I think mine and Arya's disagreement crossed the boundaries of propriety a long time ago._

_Probably,_ Saphira agreed with grim humour. She did not often swear, but Eragon's discomfit and unrest had been feeding through to her for days and she was frustrated, as full of unrest as him. _Barzul! No diplomatic meeting has been so very fraught with tension as this. And the Agaeti Blodrhen is supposed to be a festival!_

_I'm sorry, Saphira. My actions have not been fair on you. You are as upset as me now._

_Do not worry about it, Eragon. You know that we share all burdens, all things ... I do not mind. _

He grunted._ But I do. He paused. I need to fight something. _

Saphira snorted with laughter. _Wonderful, she said languidly. Let us find the nearest Ra'zac and you can try anything you wish. _

Eragon shuddered. _Do not say that. Every time I hear their names I think of their stinking breath, their crawling black skin ..._

_Foul things. After what they did to Katrina and her father, they deserved even worse than what you did to them. _

Eragon sat on a lone tree, and scowled, a pain in his chest as he thought of Katrina, of Roran, as Brego as a child ... of their funerals, their graves, their lined, dead faces. A searing pain ripped through him, and how he missed them.

_Oh, little one ..._ Saphira laid her head by his side as he sat on the root of the tree. _Your pain, you do not share it. _

_I have you, Saphira, and you are more than I wish for. _

_I know that. But one day, even we must confide in someone. _

_Who would we speak to? A rock would be as useful. We are the Leaders, we must be strong. We must deal with our own problems. _

_I think you are wrong, my Rider_, Saphira said gently. No voice was softer, no person better than Saphira to him, but he could not quite believe her. Even the greatest Leaders cannot hold all their thoughts inside.

_We can try,_ Eragon said bitterly. _And truly, Saphira, how can we trust any one? _

_We can trust old friends. _

_They are dead,_ he said bluntly. _And Orik is busy with his kingdom. _

_Arya is your friend. _

Eragon stared at her in disbelief._ Are you quite in your right mind, Saphira?_ She growled._ Arya is ... Arya is ... No,_ he ended firmly_. No!_

Saphira growled again, but it was a laugh._ Eragon, but you do have an expressive face. Your horror was as plain as the sun in Surda. _

_How lovely,_ Eragon said. _You know how I like Surda. _

_That was jibe at my favourite place_, Saphira said calmly, and he realised that she had successfully drawn him out of his melancholy mood. _I am sure if you spent more time in Surda you would grow to like it. _

_Once a year is quite enough. Orophier does not care whether we come or not. _

_No, but such wonderful hunting! Eragon, we are going flying. Hurry up._ She stood up and shoved him in the back.

_All right! _

He swung himself into the saddle and Saphira leapt off the ground and was above the trees almost before he could tie the thongs that kept his legs in place.

She twisted and dove and did so many back rolls as to send a less-experienced person into realms of fear and vertigo. Still, it distracted Eragon and soon the adrenalin pounded in his ears and he knew that an opponent would be a worthy thing.

_I love you, Saphira,_ he said suddenly and fiercely. _You are worth more than any one. _

_Thank-you,_ she said, surprised. _But do not shut every one else out as well, little one. _

_I won't, Saphira. But you know that you are always the most important to me, no matter how the centuries may pass._

_I know, Eragon,_ she said warmly, and hummed gently as she soared through the autumn air.

--

When Eragon returned to his tree in the dusk light, he saw a lithe shadow standing beneath it. His hand dropped to the blue sword Daiithil, though he did not truly believe that an enemy could have breached the elves' walls.

"Who goes there?" he called into the darkness. The shadow moved and revealed itself to have green eyes and long black hair. It was also carrying a long, slender, silver sword.

"Arya?" he said incredulously. She sniffed, very much aloof and walked a very tiny bit closer.

"There is to be a celebration tonight, where my cousin Niduen will arrive with her mate Bellaen from where he has just visited her in Osilon. You are, of course, invited."

"I see," he said, though it seemed a bit of an inane thing to say. "And when will this celebration be?"

"Tomorrow evening. Come any time you wish."

"I will. Thank-you."

"Yes," she said in an utterly blank voice, but which spoke of her anger still. Then she turned around and went off down the forest path without so much as backward glance. Eragon growled and, to vent his frustration, ran at top speed all the way up the tree.

_Dear Gods, I must go to a celebration for one of Arya's relatives. Why are the fates so set against us? _He paused. _I did not even know she had a cousin!_

Saphira padded to her bed and lay down with a patient look in her blue eyes. _Eragon ..._

_Oh, no ..._ Eragon flopped down on his bed and looked at Saphira. _This is truly a test._

_It is Arya's cousin you are to meet, not Arya herself. Do not worry, little one._

Eragon tapped his fingers on his old hunting knife._ I am not worrying. But I need a wash._ He jumped back off up the bed and made his way to the washing closet.

The water was steaming hot. Eragon waved his hand through the mist disgustedly. He felt like a chicken being broiled alive. Saphira snorted with laughter.

_Oh, it is lucky that you do not have scents in there or you would serve better in Brego's court amongst the ladies than on Vroengard! _

_Yes, well_ ... Eragon remembered those dresses and expensive brocades._ I am not going any where near those dresses, Saphira, understand?_ He said mock-threateningly. _So much material that you could rig an entire fleet of ships with it all. _

_Yes, I know. I am very glad to be a dragon and wear naught but my scales. _

_You are also very lucky not to freeze in winter_, he said with grin, looking at his hands and finding that they had turned soft and wrinkly. With a snort of disgust he pulled himself upright and went to find a towel while Saphira laughed at his grumpiness.

--

When Eragon arrived at the festivities he found it in full swing; elves danced, elves sang, elves ate at the long trestle table set out in the clearing. He had hoped to slip in and sit down quietly; but it was not to be: a hoard of delighted and enraptured elves descended on Saphira, blessing her (and occasionally him) for quite a while.

Arya sat at the head of the table beside a woman who looked a little like her - tall, with pale skin and large, deep blue eyes that contrasted with her rich brown hair. It took a while for him to notice a small, curly head that only just came up over the table. It was pale yellow and it bobbed about cheerily. Presently, the brown-haired elf, whom Eragon presumed to be Niduen, Arya's cousin, picked the child up and sat her on her lap as she continued to talk and laugh with Arya. The child surveyed the table with great majesty and watched the various elves eat with amusement evident in her blue eyes.

The one Eragon thought to he Niduen stood up, walking with her daughter to an elf with silver hair and quiet demeanour. She slipped her arm about him waist and they moved away to the crowds. Arya, left alone at her place, glanced up and met his gaze. She stare at him heavily and her brows contracted into what he might almost have called scowl. He glared back and then they both looked away at the same time. Eragon was vaguely aware that they were both behaving very childishly; but the idea of Arya acting childishly was very amusing and a smile threatened to break through, so he looked away.

_Yes, you are,_ Saphira said suddenly and severely. _Very childish._

He ginned and pushed her thoughts away. Arya was staring off into the darkness now and was determinedly not looking at him. He picked at the delicious food that the table groaned with, but found himself not hungry.

_Shall we go for a walk? We are not any use here. _

_All right. _

Eragon left the table and went into the darker areas, lit by soft, glowing were-lights. Elves walked in pairs or sat in silence, just contemplating nothing; no one paid Eragon or Saphira any attention and they liked the peace.

Such peace, in fact, that the little yellow-haired thunderbolt went straight into his midriff, unhindered. Eragon stared in astonishment at the young child he had seen earlier blinking dazedly after her head-long run into him. "Are you all right, child?" he asked, concerned. She stared at him, little mouth agape.

"Naiira? Naiira, do not run now, please." The brown-haired elf from the table had come from behind large oak tree and beckoned gently to the girl, who gazed at Eragon, then ran back to her mother. "You are the Rider?" she said rather than asked. "I am sorry that I missed you when you were last here, but I have been living in Osilon since the first Fall."

"I see. I presume you are the Lady Niduen?"

"My name is Niduen," she said with a soft smile, "but I am not so sure about being a Lady. You have come for the Agaeti Blodrhen, have you not?"

"I have. It is very good to be back in Ellesmera," he said. Niduen picked her daughter up, then looked at Eragon with a vaguely puzzled expression.

"My cousin did not mention that you were here until we saw Saphira Brightscales," Niduen said over the child's head. "It is a great honour."

"The honour is mine, Lady Niduen," Eragon said kindly. "And Lady Naiira as well." The child giggled then hid her curly head in the neck of Niduen's dress. Eragon and Niduen smiled at each other over her.

Niduen approached Saphira slowly. "How do you do, Great Dragon? I have certainly heard the songs of you but I always wished to meet you in person. And certainly the songs do not do you justice."

Eragon bit his tongue to stop himself from smiling broadly as Saphira graciously replied to Niduen. But little Naiira, who was looking over Niduen' shoulder, smiled shyly at him and they shared a conspiratorial grin.

Niduen dropped Naiira down on the floor, rubbing her arms and telling her daughter fondly just how heavy she was. Eragon squatted down to her level and said brightly, "And what is your name, little one?" he asked, though he knew full-well.

"I'm Naiira."

"That's a very pretty name. And how old are you?"

"I have ..." she thought very hard. "I have ... four," she said proudly. Eragon laughed quietly.

"You are getting to be a big girl, then?"

"Yes!" Naiira looked delighted. "I am big, but mama and Ada do not think so."

"Ahh ..." Eragon leaned and whispered, "you seem very grown-up to me."

Naiira giggled and he winked at her. Niduen's skirts rustled as she moved back to them and Eragon stood up again.

"You have a way with her," Niduen said quietly, staring at him much as Arya sometimes did. She came closer so that Naiira would not hear. "Many in Osilon find her hard to deal with."

Eragon felt rather surprised. "But she is as sweet a maid-child as any one could wish to know! How do you mean?"

Niduen frowned, her brow creasing momentarily. "They think her ways strange, her thoughts and speculations on life. She has but four winters but most find her too old for her age."

"You daughter seems like a very sweet and intelligent child," Eragon said stoutly, "and I think that you must be very proud of her, and your husband also."

Niduen did not seem to notice his slip of the tongue in saying 'husband'. Her face split into a friendly, comradely smile (which looked, incidentally, much like Naiira's) and there was a tinge of gratefulness in her eyes. "It is good to hear a person saying those words to me, Silver Hand, for it is hard to see strange looks sent her way very often and have no means of discouraging them."

Eragon looked sadly down at little Naiira. She was too young to be subject to prejudice. "I know that Arya is a strong person, Lady Niduen, and I know Bellaen of old; I cannot believe that your child will not have inherited this strength at all. She is a truly delightful girl," he told her earnestly, "and I am sure that the elves of Osilon will soon become used to her."

Niduen touched her two fingers to her lips, her eyes bright. "I am indebted to you for those words, Silver Hand," she said, pulling Naiira back into her arms.

"No," Eragon said firmly, "you are not. Certainly not."

Niduen gave him an unreadable look. "I must take Naiira to bed, for the hour is late. It has been a pleasure to meet and speak with you, Brightscales and Shadeslayer." She inclined her head, but was hampered by Naiira's curly head. Eragon bowed back.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Niduen," he said, smiling, as Naiia waved to him over Niduen's retreating back.

_She is a nice child,_ Eragon said to Saphira._ I would never have imagined the elves to be subject to such prejudices. _

_Oh, I do not think they are cruel or unkind to Naiira, merely unsure on how to react to her. _

_I hope so, _Eragon frowned._ But I am sure no harm will come to her with Arya as Queen. _

_I doubt it,_ Saphira agreed. _I am going to have some food,_ she said suddenly. Some of those seed cakes, perhaps.

Yes, and some faelnirv to wash it down, mayhap? He said teasingly. Saphira snapped her huge teeth at him.

_You had better hope that you do not have too much either, or you will certainly look worse in Arya's eyes, as a drunkard_. She flicked her tongue at him and padded back to the feast table, leaving Eragon to blink at the underhandedness of this blow.

There were seed cakes and honey cakes in abundance and Eragon managed to find a gap in the rows of elves where he could sit and eat in peace and relative quiet, ignoring and yet trading looks and glares with Arya at different intervals.

--

Eragon yawned, burying his head in the pillow, tired after a day of exploring the further reaches of Ellesmera. Though he could not see them, it was with a satisfied sort of feeling that he knew that the stars were shining outside the window; and that an owl hunted outside his house; and that a stream ran along the forest floor in the moonlight, laughing and gurgling when there was no one to hear her sweet music.

He turned over and fell into a delightfully deep sleep.

--

**BANG**

Eragon shot up in bed and peered into the darkness. Someone stumbled over to his bed, hesitating in the dark.

"Eragon?"

"_Arya_?!" he said incredulously. She hissed.

"This is ridiculous. _Garjzla_!" A ball of green light fizzled into existence on her palm and she held it out to him, so that it illuminated the house, reflecting oddly in her emerald eyes. She was wearing only a thin shift and he could sense her shivering in the cool night.

"Arya, what -?"

"Be quiet!" She hissed again. "You have to come with me!"

"Why? What has happened?"

She dropped her hand and the ball of light fell to the floor, fizzling back out again. With a soft whimper she dropped onto his bed, mindless of his closeness, or the fact that he wore no shirt.

"Naiira has an illness. Neither I nor the Healers have seen the like and she is getting steadily worse. She coughs phlegm, but it does not leave her throat and she cries fitfully, red-faced and panicky. There is no cure, for elven children do not get ill in such a way, in the norm."

Eragon stared at her. Her eyes were wide, surrounded by dark circles, her skin was pale and her hair was tumbling all over his bed in complete disarray. She leaned closer to him, perhaps cold, and Eragon looked away, uncomfortable.

"Why have you come here?" he asked, voice low and hoarse from being asleep. Arya blinked.

"We ... I ... I thought you would know something, something that we don't. It is no ordinary illness, Eragon. We don't know what to do."

"She's coughing up phlegm?" he asked. "And restless ... Oh, but it's not so bad. Just croup. Don't elven children have croup?"

"What's croup?" Arya asked, sounding frightened. "No, I have never heard of it! Is it bad? Can you cure it?"

"Sometimes it is fatal ... most children can survive it, though. Would you like me to come and look at her?"

"Yes," Arya whispered, her shift fluttering as she shivered, whether in fear or just cold he did not know. "Please."

"Let me get a shirt," he said in answer, getting out of the bed. Arya watched in complete indifference. He picked up a soft blanket from the bed and put it around her shoulders. "Here," he murmured. "You'll catch a chill." He knew that elves did not catch chills, and he knew that Arya knew as well, but she did not object to the warm material draped over her shoulders. She pulled it closer as he shrugged on a linen shirt and turned to face her again.

"Shall we go?"

She nodded and slipped off the bed, bare feet touching the bare boards with a little shiver. But when she made to shrug off the blanket, he pulled it back over her shoulders and glanced at her with a look that made it quite clear that she must keep it. She even looked a little grateful.

"Where is she?" he asked as they reached the forest floor and Saphira hovered above; she was going to come, but not, unless it was needed, to do anything.

"Her own bedroom in Niduen and Bellaen's house. We didn't want to move her to the Healing Halls in case it upset her." Arya tightened the blanket around her shoulders in the crisp night air. Her mouth trembled."The Healers do not know what is wrong, Eragon, they are completely at a loss."

"I met Naiira today. She is a lovely child." Arya made a small choking noise. Eragon looked at her consternation. "Arya," he said, putting a hesitant hand on her arm, "do not worry. Tens of babies get croup all the time, and most recover. I have seen many children with it."

"I have never seen an illness like this, though!" Arya burst out. "She is red in the face, coughing, crying, choking!"

Her voice wobbled again. "Don't be frightened, Arya," he said softly, squeezing her arm gently. "Please don't be frightened. Naiira will be fine, you'll see." Arya looked away; he could tell she was teetering on the edge of letting herself believe him. "But shall we hurry?"

"Yes ... Yes, let's." Arya stretched out her legs and broke into a jog, which looked rather peculiar as her shift fluttered about her legs and the blanket flapped, but Eragon followed.

They reached a part of Tialdari Hall where the hangings were done in bright colours and rosemary and honeysuckle dangled from the bushes; it was a cheery place to live and the aura did not fit with the scene Eragon and Arya met inside the little side-room that served as a bedroom for Naiira.

A woman with pale hair stood by a bowl of water, dipping a flannel into and squeezing it, looking tired. A little bed filed with soft embroidered blankets lay in the middle of the room. On it lay Naiira. Her little face, normally so happy, was strained and scared, and she whimpered and gasped, a horrible gargling noise coming through her throat while sweat trickled down the tiny forehead. Niduen knelt by the bed, stroking away the hair, whispering words un the ancient language, while Bellaen, his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight, was staring down at his daughter, looking as scared as Arya did. They all turned to look as Eragon and Arya entered.

"Silver Hand -" started Bellaen, but Eragon cut him off.

"How long has she been like this? Why is there no water? And clothes -" he turned to Arya. "I thought you meant you couldn't cure her, not that you didn't know what was wrong!"

Arya stared at him, seeming to remember that she was angry with him. "I said nothing of the sort! You just jumped to a conclusion, I -"

"Sorry, sorry ..." Eragon said, turning back to little Naiira and his face softened. "Poor child. I've had it, it's not nice."

"You know what it is?" the woman with pale hair said, her eyes tired. "I've tried everything I know, but it is beyond my ken."

"Croup," he announced to the room, "just croup. It's when the phlegm gets stuck and she cannot get it out. Human children have it very often. But Naiira has it very badly, don't you, little one?" she looked at him with wide, trusting eyes.

"All right. You are the Healer?" he asked, looking to the pale-haired elf. She nodded. "Then will you please get from your stores a plant called Rubiaceae."

"But - it is a purgative! It will make her release her food!" the Healer said, grown eyes wide. "It -"

"Please, do as I say." The command and power in his voice was unmistakeable; Arya stared at him. "Grind it with alkaline syrup and bring it here as soon as you can. I can not express the urgency with which we need it."

The Healer stared, then bobbed a quick curtsey. "Yes, my Lord Shadeslayer." She left the room quickly. Eragon looked at Bellaen.

"Please get Naiira some fresh changes of clothing." Bellaen hesitated, but left to do as he bid. "Niduen, please boil some water."

"That will be in the other room, I don't want to leave her -"

"Please, Niduen. Arya is here and she will come to no harm." Something in his voice made her turn away to go into the next room and do as he said. "Arya, please calm her, hold her hand anything."

Arya came and knelt by the stressing child, holding her hand and whispering softly to her as Niduen had done. "What are all those things for?" she whispered as Eragon removed the old pillows from behind her head and turned them the other way around before gently replacing them behind her head.

"The clothes are because she will need fresh changes of clothing a lot as she becomes more and sweaty and it will make her less discomfited. The water is for washing her down with and the Rubiaceae is to make her throw up the phlegm."

"I see. You have done this before, haven't you?" The blanket had slipped to the floor and the shift had moved, showing a patch of white skin.

"Yes, I have, many times. Roran and I both had it; and Fisk's children and Birgit and Quimby's daughters all had it. It's just something you learn," he said, shrugging, turning the blanket inside out and shifting Naiira along so that she lay on cooler bedding.

"Can I help?" she asked, blinking away the tiredness.

"You are helping just by comforting her," he said with a grim smile, but a true one. Niduen opened the door and came bearing a set of clothes and a kettle of water.

"Everything is here, Silver Hand. What can I do?" she trembled and her voice shook, until tears spilled over her eyes and she sobbed silently. Arya hastened to her side.

"Go to wait with Bellaen, Niduen," she said, a hand on her cousin's arm. Niduen shook her head as the tears fell from her blue eyes.

"No, I want to be with her -"

"You'll do more use heating the water than getting upset," Eragon said not unkindly. "When you feel ready come back in."

Niduen pressed her lips together and turned, stumbling back out of the door, where Bellaen caught her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Eragon gave the clothes to Arya, standing up to take the kettle to the fire.

"Please dress her in these, but only the cotton clothes," he said, seeing that a small nightdress was included in the clothes. Arya began to change little Naiira as the Healer burst into the room. She was carrying a stone pestle and mortar and long-handled spoon was in her hand.

"Silver Hand, I have made the syrup, as you requested, but I confess, I cannot see it working. 'Tis a decoration from Surda, not a medicine."

Eragon grunted, taking the bowl from her as Arya slipped Naiira into the white nightdress. "Well, no, it is not a medicine, but it is effective."

"What do you mean it is not a medicine?" Arya said, eyes wide.

"It is not a medicine," he repeated as her mixed the syrup to the right consistency, "it is a purgative."

"What -? You mean you will make her vomit? But how can you -?"

"Arya, please remember that there is no elf here that can suggest another cure, though if you have one I would be pleased to hear it," Eragon said though slightly clenched teeth. She glared, and subsided, stroking Naiira's hand.

"Naiira!" she burst out, as the girl half-rose, choking, red-faced, her eyes wide in terror. The noise of it gurgled around the room and a stumble and sob came from outside the door. "Eragon -!"

"I know, I know ..." he dipped the spoon into the bowl and forced, as gently as he could, down her throat. She tried to spit it back out - Eragon knew from experience that it tasted foul - even as she gasped for breath. But some went down her throat. Eragon waited, pausing to see if the phlegm would come up; Arya glanced at him, wondering what he was doing, but he saw that Naiira was not going to regurgitate the phlegm with this dose.

"Here, small one," he said gently, spooning it another dose down her throat. She did not take well to this, either, and flailed her little fists, mouth screwed up in distaste. "Swallow ..." he said silently, hoping that it would work. But it did not. The sweat ran down her red body and dripped over her eyes; Arya took more water and washed her down, careful and mindful of her distress.

Down the Rubiaceae syrup went, again and again through that long night. Naiira hate it more than the choking and gasping for air and she learnt to push the spoon away, to wail when it came. But Arya was good with her and calm, and she quieted the toddler every time it happened, soothing her, cuddling her, and washing her with care; Eragon could not help thinking of just how good a mother she herself would be.

The night wore on and Naiira became more stressed; Bellaen paced outside the door and Niduen held a handkerchief to her mouth to still her cries. The north star changed its position and still Eragon and Arya persevered, fording down the Rubiaceae, washing her down, changing her clothes, comforting her when she cried out in pain and terror at the thick substance inside hat was slowly choking her.

And just as the sun touched the eastern horizon, Eragon forced down the last of the syrup of Rubiaceae. Naiira was too weak to resist now and Eragon knew that if this last dose did not work, then precious little else would. Arya watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the last of the mixture went down.

Naiira wheezed deep in her throat; Eragon could feel a slight tremor in her ribcage as her body worked against the Rubiaceae. She opened her blue eyes, tired but pained, and gazed at Eragon. Her felt a thrill of foreboding as she closed her eyes and then, with a great heave, coughed and coughed, so that the phlegm from her insides came up, over her chin and onto her clothes and blankets.

"Praise be," Eragon breathed, meeting Arya's eyes. She gazed at him with hopeful eyes.

"Is it done? Was that it, will she be better now?"

"Yes," Eragon sighed, relaxing for the first time since that nightmarish night had begun. "She has brought up the phlegm, she will be more peaceful now. Exhausted, but peaceful."

"I'm so glad," Arya whispered, so quietly that he almost did not hear. She jumped up and set about taking the dirty things, dropping by the door, cleaning Naiira yet again and slipping on another nightie. Naiira lay back down, tired out, her face flushed, but her eyes closed, and she slipped into a peaceful, natural sleep.

"Niduen can come in now," Eragon said, making to stand, but Arya got up first and opened the door, where she murmured their tidings to Bellaen and his weeping mate.

Niduen rushed in, falling to her knees by her daughter's side, stroking back the pale hair, and taking in the sweet look on the child's face. Bellaen followed her, having eyes only for his daughter, and he gazed at her with such tenderness that Eragon felt that there could hardly be better parents in the village of Osilon.

Arya, waiting by the door, hung back. Eragon, knowing that they would want to be alone with Naiira, said to Bellaen quietly, "She will be fine now, but stay with her and give her plenty of water, or the force of the vomiting will hurt her stomach. Do not hesitate to call me if there is any need."

Bellaen nodded distractedly, but managed a smile of gratitude and understanding. Eragon left the room, closely followed by Arya. They stood in the night air, taking breaths of relief - she was all right, she was cured, she was not going to perish along with the night ...! But finally Eragon became aware of the slowly rising sun.

"We should go to bed," he said to Arya, who was gazing around with sleep-heavy eyes. She blinked slowly.

"Yes, we should." She shrugged of the blanket that was still hanging around her shoulders and tried to pass it to him, but he would not take it.

"You will need it, it is cold ... you might catch a chill."

She slowly withdrew her arm and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders one more. "Thank-you ... for your consideration."

"You are welcome." Eragon stared at her and she made no move to go. "It is all ready the morrow," he said eventually, looking away.

"Yes, indeed; I must be up tomorrow for Council."

"Council?" he repeated incredulously. "_Council_? But surely, you cannot be expected to take Council when you have had no sleep at all this night?"

"They do not need to know until the Council itself," Arya said, apparently unperturbed and unsurprised by this turn of events. Eragon wondered how many sleepless nights she had spent, only to get up and take Council just the same as ever. He longed to ask, but didn't. "It is of no importance. Everything will operate as normal tomorrow."

"No, it will not. You must take as much sleep as you want," Eragon said firmly. Arya coloured despite her tired state.

"You do not have bearing on my court!" she hissed up at him.

"No, but I will not have you working yourself to the bone; I know that I will sleep for some hours and I do not see why you should be denied this luxury, either."

"Oh ..." Arya stepped back from him looking down. "To find you care for my welfare that much ..." she trailed off.

"You must sleep as long as you lie, Arya, and I will see to it personally, even if you do not agree."

For the first time in a while, Arya smiled. "Who am I to fight before such stubbornness?" There was a suggestion of laughter in her expression. "But you see, we are whiling away the hours we have left to sleep."

"Farewell and sleep peacefully, Arya," Eragon said, also with a trace of a smile in his voice. Arya nodded made to go. But before he had taken more than few steps, a soft hand grabbed his own. He looked back to find Arya holding it.

"Eragon," she said seriously, "you have saved my niece's life today. I will not forget this."

"All I did was show you how; you would have so yourself had you known how."

"I will not forget this, Eragon. I have little family left and what I do, I protect with my life. But my life was useless in this case." She still held his hand tightly.

"You are never useless," he said quietly, looking into her face. "_Never_, Arya."

She seemed to lean unconsciously closer in her tired and weakened state. Eragon longed to comfort her, but knew she would not let him. "You have always been strong, Arya ... but you do not have to be always so."

"Yes, I must," she whispered back, almost just to herself. "I must. I can confide in no one, I cannot loan my burdens onto other people's shoulders."

Eragon felt a memory stir, of Saphira saying something like that just two days ago. "You may be wrong. The will be someone, Arya." But as these words, the spell that had seemed to be over them broke. Arya pulled back.

"Perhaps." But she did not sound convinced. "Good night, Eragon. Remember that you my thanks and my gratitude, and also a debt that I hope to repay."

"Good night, Arya." There was much he wanted to say, but he did not trust himself to put it into words; so he squeezed her arm in assurance, in understanding, and in what he hoped she would fond to be comfort.

She moved away and walked off, head held proud, but feet dragging. Eragon found his way to Saphira, eyelids drooping, and pulled himself onto her back, bereft of the saddle.

_Oh, little one, what a night for you,_ she said sympathetically but with a great deal of pride in her voice as she took off, slowly so as not to dislodge him.

_For Arya and her family, too,_ he said, but was not listening. Sleep beckoned to him enticingly; and when Saphira landed in the tear-drop portal, he slid off her to stumble to his bed, where he lay down without removing his shirt and fell into the very deepest of sleeps, hoping, all the while, that Arya was also at home in bed, as he was.

--

Rubiaceae is a plant from Brazil, the Ipecac plant makes a purgative: It means, 'road-side sick-making plant'. Lovely.


	5. Chapter 5

Umm ... twelve months? No updates? What _are_ you talking about?

Lol?

Chapter Five.

Scandal.

Eragon yawned. He was perfectly comfortable, his bed was warm, and there was no hurry to do anything. The unpleasant events of the last few days had been momentarily forgotten; he was would quite happily have stayed there for at least another half-hour. He would have, that is, but for a very insistent bullfinch that was sitting on the open window.

"Piddle eep-peep! Iddle peep-peep!" it said brightly. Eragon raised his head and glared at it sleepily.

"Can't you do that somewhere else?"

The finch gave a happy bounce, quite clearly full of the joys of life. "Pip! Piddle iddle peep pip!"

Eragon was not. "Please go away," he said pleadingly. "Some of us were up very late last night while furry little things like you were in bed."

"Iddle pip pip piddle!" it exclaimed.

Eragon grinned, even as his remembrance of the last few days returned. He knew it could not fully understand his words, but he thought he broadcast his dejectedness quite well. The finch puffed up his tiny chest.

"_Iddle piddle piddle – __eep peep peep!"_ The black-capped head bobbed. Eragon watched with interest as first, as not only one, but five fluffy grey balls alighted on the sill. Each one had shiny black eyes and minuscule beaks; and hopping along behind them was a small, fat female.

"Oh, it's a choir now, is it?"

To finish, his plump little wife and rotund children promptly burst into song. Eragon eyed them gloomily.

"That's not making me feel much better, you know."

The brown chest inflated once again, and his beady eyes cast Eragon a despairing glance, obviously disappointed in his dark mood. "Peep piddle iddle, piddle iddle peep pip iddle iddle ..." The family raised their voices; so did Eragon.

"Yes – I can see you're a very happy, lucky bird with a big, happy family and nice nest somewhere over there ..." Eragon sighed, then scowled at himself.

_Pah. I have become self-pitying old man; Garrow would flay me within an inch of my life._ He leapt up out of the bed, but the blankets had wrapped themselves around his middle much like a snake in the desert, and he teetered, almost off balance, then froze. The finches had stopped singing. The male suddenly shoved his wing under each of his children, shoved them off the sill, bundled his wife over the edge too, then dived off himself. Then Saphira arrived, landing neatly on the edge of the tear-drop portal.

_Oi! _said Eragon indignantly, disentangling himself from the blankets. _You__ scared them off!_

_Who?_ She queried politely, ruffling her wings.

_The finch! _

_What a warm welcome,_ she remarked dryly. _What finch?_

_There was a bullfinch on the window; he woke me up._

_Really. And what's the matter? It's hardly a novelty, is it, a bullfinch?_

_No, I know._ Eragon dropped the blankets back onto the bed and rubbed his face wearily. _It was a very sensible bird, though._

_I think you need sleep,_ said Saphira, eyeing him oddly. _And food. Arya is the one that chatters to birds._

_As opposed to you, who eats them,_ Eragon said quickly, to cover the sudden somersault his belly had performed at her name. Arya's habit of surrounding herself with fluffy, noisy hedgerow birds had been something he'd found very endearing all those years ago. _Do you suppose she still does that? Talk to the birds, I mean. _

_Maybe, _said Saphira cautiously. _I expect so, unless she is too busy with all her daily business. _

_Strange. We spent ... seventy, eighty years apart, and I missed her; but now that we are in the same city, it is worse than ever._

_I know what you mean ... I talked to Arya very much – remember when you put her on my back and jumped off, and I took her all the way around Tronjheim? She was so furious with you at first!_

_Yes. _Eragon grinned wistfully. _I remember._

_Yes; so I miss her because she was the only elf or human with whom the both of us could talk and enjoy being with outside the Riders. So, I think the sooner you talk to her the better. _

Eragon watched a dust mote that whirled through the air, golden in the morning light. _Of course; but I am not going to make her any more uncomfortable than she is; and this is her home. _

_When you were being childish at Niduen's celebration you didn't seem to care._

_All right, I understand, _he said with a flicker of irritation. _But I did not pick a fight. _

Saphira was silent. She stepped over to her bed and nestled deep into the blankets, apparently full of an unfortunate deer. Eragon stared at her a moment, waiting for a rebuke, but it did not come. He knew Saphira's ways, of course; so he concluded that she was tired of talking to a slow mortal such as himself, and went to have a wash instead.

He was sure that from the small vents in the wash closet he could hear a chorus of bullfinches, still singing at the tops of their diminutive voices.

--

If Eragon had wanted a peaceful day, he would have gone at sat under the Menoa tree, or found a garden in Tialdari Hall. But he was a man used to rough and tumble and long days with bad weather. So he walked to the copse of sculptured beech trees he knew of old, and did not allow himself to hesitate.

Besides, he had an errand to complete.

The elf's lined face was bent over a hot forge, and in her hand were a pair of iron tongs. She was moulding a shape into a cast, and Eragon waited while she finished. But when she had, she took off her gloves and started to measure the blades of a pair of knives; of course she knew Eragon was there, waiting.

"Rhunon."

Her wrinkled, pitted face and straggling white hair was beaded with sweat. Her eyes glinted in the forge light.

"I thought you'd be back."

"I thought I'd find you here."

"Well, where else would I be, Rider?" she replied curtly and turned her attention back to the knives. Eragon waited, watching her. But she suddenly dropped the knives, and her eyes were sharp.

"So, what became of my swords? I heard rumours you'd buried Sorrow."

"I did. Along with its bearer and his dragon."

Rhunon's lips twitched; she blinked. "So Sorrow is laid to rest with the son of the bastard I made it for?"

"Yes," said Eragon sharply, "but Murtagh was no bastard. His sacrifice was great." Eragon looked down, remembering poor Murtagh dying because he had disregarded his oaths, and the way, in doing so, he had saved Eragon's life. "He gave his life. It was all he had to give in the end. I wanted to bring it back to you, Rhunon, but in the end I decided it should stay with Murtagh. He forged a new history with it."

"It was not necessarily your choice to make," she replied, pushing some hair out if her face and regarding him impassively. "But the Riders always took their swords with them to their graves." She looked almost sadly at the two daggers she had dropped. "Still, that leaves me with none. None of my great creations."

Eragon watched her gravely. "That is what I and the Council of Vroengard have to ask of you. That you take one last sword to into your keeping." He tilted his head slightly to see her eyes. "It is not a happy sword, or a sword used for good deeds, but it is a powerful sword. I do not like to have it in my city."

"It is Agnavra, isn't it?" she whispered. "I heard it said that you had taken it."

"Shruikan burnt along with his Rider," Eragon said, looking away, speaking in that flat voice he always used when talking about Galbatorix. "But Power the black sword of the King I took away."

"That was _not_ your decision," said Rhunon emphatically, baring her yellow teeth. "It would have been better for all concerned if you had let it burn as well."

"Perhaps. But I did take it, and I am not going to go into details as to why."

"I do not want to hear them. I am glad the Queen did not want to see you here, for I knew you would come. I only wanted to forget."

Eragon grimaced and looked away, ignoring the stab of pain he felt at Rhunon's causal mention of Arya's unwillingness to talk to him. "I suppose you know what I am asking, though, don't you?"

"You are asking if I will take Agnavra the sword of Galbatorix into this city and keep it." Rhunon turned her back on him, and shot a bolt of yellow fire into the forge. "I know, Rider."

Eragon bowed his head, and waited. Long years of this wrangling with strong opinions and old prejudices had made him patient, and hours of supervising children trying to use magic had made him careful. So he waited.

"I made Agnavra. Nothing Galbatorix did was my fault, but the sword was my creation. It was my last creation," she said, eyes lingering on Eragon's own sword, blue Daiithil. "I do not care about your city, Shadeslayer, but I will take back what is mine. Bring Agnavra to me. I will take it."

"Very well," Eragon said with little joy but some satisfaction. "Then I name you its custodian, and so shall you be known. My Riders will come it, at a time we can later arrange."

"No ceremony," she said sharply. "None of that."

"Not if I can help it. But a certain protocol must be observed, Rhunon-elda."

Her wrinkled face twisted slightly to look over her shoulder at him, and the look in her eyes was strange. "Protocol demands, Rider, that you gain acceptance from the Queen before bringing the sword here."

"Does it indeed," Eragon said coldly, and stared at the back of her head, knowing that she knew he was still there. "What a surprise."

Rhunon made a dismissive gesture, for she cared little for these things, and Eragon left, knowing better than to thank her. He suddenly wished, fervently, he was back at home in his tower on Vroengard, and did not have to deal with the nonsense in this city that made his heart hurt so.

--

It was very hot; so much so that Eragon had gone to a lake near his house and, rolling up his trousers, dangled his legs in the water, watching Saphira propel herself lazily along the surface. She looked a great, shining beetle, all legs and head, and normally he would have joined her. But he only wanted to be quiet, to think and listen, and so he simply sat and watched.

He had loved Ellesmera so much, during the war against the Empire. It had been quiet, it had been peaceful; it had been a sort of home. Yet now, for the first time, he saw that it could be a sort of prison, too.

He had seen the shutters behind Arya's eyes, and he had seen the paleness of her cheeks, her cold hands; he saw the silence in her court, but heard the laughter in Ellesmera. Laughter, he knew, Arya was excluded from. She must be miserable; he knew she was, because he had known her so well; but that did not at all explain why she was so angry with him.

While tending the child Naiira, the previous night, the old Arya had shone through; he could just remember her pretending to be angry with him for putting her on Saphira's back and flying around Tronjheim; he remembered her trying in vain to communicate with a lot of Urgals who did not speak very much of anything; he remembered her pelting him with carrot tops over a camp fire …

Come to think of it, he remembered waking, for the first after he had killed Galbatorix, to find Arya by his side, sitting on an upturned keg, driving a sharp little knife into the wood and yanking it back out again. She'd smiled when he'd woken up, and mumbled; she'd been happy, and had smiled her beautiful smile …

In the hot sun and cool shade, the soft sounds of the water and Saphira blowing bursts of flame onto the water to see them become vapour, Eragon began to fall asleep. He had been up all night, woken early by the very wise bullfinch, and had been dragged through half of Ellesmera on Saphira's back to find this lake; he was tired.

And as he slept, he dreamed.

_Arya's face swam into view, and Eragon stared at her, head pounding, eyes blurry. As if sensing the change in his condition, she looked and down and promptly dropped the knife she was holding. _

"_Oh, you're awake!" She stared back at him, and made a quick move with her arm, as if to touch his hand or the bed, but decided against it. "We thought you'd never come round."_

_He grunted and a firework display of bright lights flashed before his eyes. Arya put a mug of something to his lips, that burned and scorched on its way down; but as the shock receded, he recognised faelnirv; and found he could move again. _

"_What happened?"_

"_Oh, don't tell me you can't remember," she said. "It _would_ be you." And she smiled down at him, and Eragon's bewildered mind wondered what was so different about that smile that had been missing in all the others …_

Saphira went to wake him, but decided against it; she knew that purple bags under the eyes in humans was not a good sign. Besides, he so rarely dreamt these days, yet now his eyes were wandering behind the lids. She hoped it was good for him.

"_Don't be silly," Arya frowned, hands on hips. "I am not going to do it."_

"_I didn't say you had to," Eragon protested, "but Nasuada asked me to ask you."_

"_You didn't have to fall in with her!" she replied, eyebrows raised. "If anyone comes near me to try poke me full of pins for a dress I won't wear I'll -"_

"_You can't them kill, Arya," he said reasonably. "That's an act of violence in a time of truce with the enemy."_

"_I -!"_

"_Besides," he carried on before he lost his courage, "I think you'd look beautiful whatever you wore."_

_He looked away quickly, but saw anyway the expression of surprise, pleasure and something else that passed over Arya's face …_

Saphira, sunning herself on the bank, felt a slight disturbance in the wards surrounding the city; vaguely, she heard a bird cry.

_Another carrot top hit Eragon's nose, and he flicked it back at her quickly. "This isn't fair," he complained, hiding his smile. Arya lifted a dangerous eyebrow and threw a potato sprout at him._

"_Don't you _dare _ever do that again, Eragon!"_

"_Do what?" he teased. Arya put her head in her hands in mock exasperation. The fire spat and crackled in the little glade they were camping in. _

"_This is why Orik didn't want to come isn't it? Because you are too insufferable to spend a week travelling with!"_

"_Mm, yes. Something like that, I expect." Eragon avoided her gaze now, in case she found out that the reason Orik had decided against coming on the scouting mission was because he was determined to ask Hvedra to marry him. It was supposed to be a secret. "No one mentioned anything about you and your liking for food fights."_

"_This isn't about me," she said, waving the last un-chopped carrot about threateningly, "this is about _you_."_

_There was a breathless moment where Eragon fought a snort of laughter, and Arya scowled at him; then as if something had snapped, they both at once dissolved into uncontrollable laughter …_

Saphira listened to the birds call - a bird of prey, she was sure - and glanced at Eragon. His dreams were evidently becoming more violent; she could see his hands twitching. And in her Rider's mind, she could feel black, old memories flitting through.

_A procession of elves, clothed in black cloaks, holding lamps on thin chains paced slowly through the hushed Ellesmera; not a word was spoken between them, not a glance did they cast to acknowledge the crowd that was gathering. Four others walked in the midst of the silent host, carrying a stretcher of soft material, covered also in a black cloth; a thin, female figure was concealed beneath it. _

_Eragon watched as from the crowd emerged another figure, tall and dark-haired, green eyes wide. Arya halted them with one word, and Eragon watched from the back of the procession, as she bent over the stretcher and lifted the cloth, as she stared with horror-struck eyes at the cold, still form of her dead mother …_

Even in his dream, Eragon could easily recall the scent of the flowers in Ellesmera that turned black when their Queen died. Saphira, feeling these horrid things flashing through his mind, twitched, and wondered if she should wake him. But she could not bring herself to, just yet.

_The rain beat fiercely on the wooden shutters of Arya's house; for some reason she had lit only one lamp and had started the fire in the grate, but had not lit the whole house; Eragon stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching her pace up and down, up and down._

"_You should go to bed."_

"_Do not tell me what to do."_

"_You have got a decision to make," he said as way of a reply, feeling sullen but knowing he must do what was right. "And it must be made by tomorrow morning."_

"_I know that."_

"_You do not seem to understand that."_

"_Oh, yes, I do!" she retorted heatedly, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them as she paced. "I always knew it would come - but not this soon! I was born to be a Queen; but I have not lived as a Princess, Eragon. Let me make my own decisions."_

"_I know you can decide for yourself," he replied grudgingly, "but I am here because no one else in the city knows what to do."_

"_What if __**I**__ don't know what to do?!" she said, a break in her voice. "There is nothing special in me that can make me so sure of myself when others are not!"_

_Eragon looked at her gravely. "I think there must be something. It may not be your position, your heritage, but it is your nature. You will find an answer."_

"_How, then?" Her voice resounded with scepticism. _

"_If you know yourself well enough, you will be all right. Look inside yourself, and do not hide the truth about what you find." He bowed his head and looked away, into the flames. "That is my advice. I think it is all I can give you."_

_Arya let out a small breath, and sank onto a chair, hand on her forehead. "I have been thinking a lot about … everything, Eragon. I always thought I was true to myself, but here I am, now, torn between … between …" she trailed off, with an apprehensive look at him that Eragon found strange._

"_You are torn between where your heart leads you … and where your mind is telling you your loyalty lies."_

_Her figure became instantly stiff, upright; her eyes closed. Eragon knew he was right. "And what," she said slowly, "do you imagine these two things are that are tearing me?"_

"_How can I know what your heart is telling you? Only you can know that; I will not do you the disservice of trying to guess, either. But your mind is telling you that if take the crown, become Queen, you will be doing your duty, upholding your mother's honour. All these things are good and true, but evidently something is stopping you. I do not know what that thing is."_

"_Have you no idea?" she asked, eyes glinting in the firelight as she looked up at him. "None at all?"_

"_No, Arya."_

_She smiled a bitter half smile. "Of course you do not, Eragon. I never meant you to. It seems my training as diplomat has not deserted me completely."_

"_What are you talking about?" asked Eragon slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. _

"_I only meant that at least one of the things I have wanted has come true." She glanced sideways at him, and away. _

"_What is that?" he asked with inexplicable trepidation. _

"_Nothing important." Once more her eyes lost their expression and she stood up quickly. "You have come here to help me, guided by the Court or not -" Eragon frowned at being tarred with the same brush as any political Court "- and as I have known you of old, I will listen to you." But she did not look at him, standing by the fire. Eragon did not know why._

"_I have not come here under anyone's guidance - and I have not come to make your decision for you." He looked up, watching the firelight dance in her hair; he could not see her face. "But I do want to help you. I will, if I in any way can, Arya."_

_At her name, her back stiffened. Slowly, she moved her long neck to see him. Her gaze was careful. "I will ask you this, then. What is more important to you, and in your opinion: duty - or pleasure?"_

_As a question, Eragon thought the answer obvious; but he hesitated to answer, for her could sense some hidden depths beneath it. "By pleasure, do you mean an easy life, carefree? Or do you mean the wishes of the heart?"_

_Arya was silent. She stared at him, eyes burning with something that was not curiosity. Cautiously, Eragon proceeded: _

"_And by duty, do you mean duty to the masses … Or duty to yourself, remaining true to yourself?"_

_Her breast fluttered with quick breaths. "Put yourself in my place. In my position, what answer would you get when that question was applied?"_

_The answer came readily to Eragon's lips, yet he hesitated. He thought he knew what she was asking; and how should he answer? If Arya became Queen, she was chaining herself to the throne, to Ellesmera and politics forever. And so inscrutable, so unreadable was Arya that he did not know if she wanted that - or if she did not. _

_Yet she was a Princess - and Eragon, war leader, politician, tactician, all the things Arya also was, knew the importance of self-sacrifice. He knew how important it was for the elven nation to remain united, if the peace after Galbatorix's death was to be kept._

"_Duty is not be thrown away. Duty must be done by everyone, and duties kept."_

_He glanced at Arya's flushed face, and away, back to the fire, feeling the sting of it burning his throat, yet he had not lied - he had told the truth - he'd been speaking in the Ancient Language ..._

_Arya made a stiff bob of the head, eyes narrow, hands in fists for some reason. "Thank you for your opinion, Eragon."_

_He stared at her. "It is well given," he choked out, and, not daring to see her face, hear her voice any longer, strode from the room, unlatched the door with a flick of his hand and left, out into the pouring rain. _

A dark shape came flying, wing tipped, into the forest, unafraid of Saphira, unfettered by wards. The sun glinted on its forked tail and white head, and Saphira watched it with sharp eyes, saw the pouch attached to its leg. Eragon was as yet oblivious.

"_Then it is decided." Arya's face was unreadable as she gazed down at her Court. "We go to war with the Empire."_

_The Lords and Ladies murmured assent. Eragon watched Arya turn to a page, and hold forth a glowing ball of fire, to which each and every warrior would add his or her magic; at the moment it was small, as few elves were in service, but soon, Eragon knew, it would swell to massive proportions._

_As the elves in the Court started to come forward, to add their signatures to the globe, he hung back. He was no soldier to be conscripted, and his fighting abilities were at the service of whom he chose: so he merely watched Arya, her face glowing in the fire, her eyes that were guarded and body that stood so tense. _

_This was her first act as Queen. She would not lead her troops into battle, but would stand on the sidelines; she would not fight, would only negotiate. It seemed to Eragon that all the things she was good at, she was no longer able to do._

_And his dream, he ran over the old ground over and over again, for the hundredth time in a hundred years: had what he had said about duty truly influenced her decision? If he had not spoken, would she have refused the crown? Or, if he had spoken _differently_, would she have taken it?_

_In his dream Arya was fading away, disappearing as she had from his life, and the murmurs of the elves were becoming louder and louder …_

Eragon jerked awake, sitting quickly upright, and stared dumbly at the thing heading straight for him; out of reflex he lifted his arm and its sharp claws dug into his arm as the bird balanced there.

"Hello, Kaisïr," he said, blinking. The bird surveyed him with sharp eyes; he was a Red Kite, a rare breed but a proud and clever one; the reddish colours of his chest and wings glinted in the sun, and his eyes, hard ones, those of a predator, were fixed on Eragon. "I wasn't expecting you."

_News. Urgent. _

Eragon stared a for a moment, caught off guard; the Kite had been trained to repeat certain words; but rarely in all his life had Eragon heard the word '_urgent' _be said by any messenger. He grabbed the scroll from Kaisïr's leg, nudging the bird to another perch as he did so, a lump of seeming ice in his stomach, and began to read.

_Come now. Do not delay. Disgrace in Ceunon outpost. Urgent. Yours, Drake._

"Damnit," said Eragon, throwing the parchment away with an angry toss of his hand; Kaisïr the Kite watched with impassive eyes and Saphira snarled. Her lips drew back from her dagger-sharp fangs, for she, as Eragon, could sense nearby the rare, unpleasant scent of scandal.

--

Filler, yes, I know, but it's supposed to fill in some gaps. Anyway, I'm back to writing this and others, with no deadline! I suppose generally it is known that I've finished _Empire, Eridor and Ending_? Well, I managed it on time, but I still haven't even SEEN Brisingr.  
So if no one could put any spoiler sinto the reviews, that would be great - also, if you think you really would enjoy a sequel to _Empire_, it wouldn't ruin Brisingr for you, please let me know that too! I'm afraid i've still got ideas :)


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